Holy Grail, First Impressions

Religion is always a touchy subject for me. I feel as though in any stance or position that I take, I will always undoubtedly offend someone- of course I don’t absolutely mean to. It’s just that religion is one of those topics where attaining perfect harmony with anybody is unfeasible. It’s like trying to sing in unison but there’s always one person 3 beats ahead. Or somebody who is just horribly off tune. However, the topic of the Holy Grail is too provoking for me to resist.

Before I had ever discovered this novel, I had only known the Holy Grail as a chalice. Nothing more, nothing less. Although the reason behind this attitude of mine towards one of the world’s most intriguing artifact was mainly because I had no real fancy for it. It was interesting but that was all. It was nothing more to me than a cup. I probably cared more about my own ice cream cup than I did for the “chalice”. I couldn’t understand the addicting power it had possessed on so many. However now I can’t help but wonder if there is any more to this myth.

The Da Vinci Code (in my perspective) points to the assumption that the Holy Grail was truly the blood line of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. And not as the cup that Jesus had drank from at the Last Supper as many would have liked to believe. Even though I have heard of these speculations before on numerous of occasions, this time there was just so much facts that I couldn’t ignore. There were too many coincidences that the idea became credible in my mind. It was plausible, likely, feasible. So why not? I couldn’t help but think: Why not? And so there the seed was lodged deep into my conscience. The idea stuck to me like flies to fly paper. But of course I had doubts. A lot of them to be exact. Nevertheless, as I dug deeper into the book, the more I came to firmly believe in the bloodline. Too many coincidences. Still...

Is it just a cup? Or is it more? Is it really Jesus’ bloodline? Or just the chalice that held his blood? So many questions rage war inside my head as I desperately try to pin together the pieces of the puzzle. But with a blindfold on and some pieces missing. It seemed like a task even more strenuous than labor. And so I spent many endless nights, with a fervent fever, my mind in hysteria for the knowledge I craved to know yet cursed to be ignorant. (I wonder do all Histologists feel this way too).The idea of a conspiracy was just so addicting, the theories like a siren’s song seducing me into its realm, constantly teasing me with soothing whispers of cures to the disease. I can’t wait but to find out more...